Make it right
by ATTHESTROKEOFMIDNIGHT
Summary: Your getting paid to do a job, you have to take the risk. Somethings change, but it only makes it easier to start again. (Gregstophe with acornmilk, song:start again by RED, they match by chance aha)
1. Chapter 1

**Gregory POV**

This is not how he wished to spend his Christmas; in the harsh winters of Russia, darting around what he suspected was now the outskirts of Chernobyl. The perfect lay low really- if one could bypass the possibility of radiation poisoning. Something else he would much like to avoid.

Tip off had told him his most recent target had chased himself into the middle of this desolate waste land; probably hunting down Russian radicals or perhaps even a paranormal phenomena. He couldn't help a laugh at the second option. (Spirits. What a joke.)

Normally the esteemed mister Sharpe would have manipulated one of his lackey Mercenaries into such a situation for him, but the current mission seemed rather personally addressed to the British man specifically. A burn notice. Quite the odd burn notice at that; it lacked a name, face, any information at all really other than the fact printed in bold that whomever this was needed to be wiped from the face of this particular business. A Free-lancer. Those were not very appreciated in this day and age by the growing rings and ring masters.

Sliding down a small slope leading to the quarantine fence was easy enough with no foliage littering the dead ground getting in his way, though he gave a soft scoff at the wet mud clinging to his shoes, pants and the ends of his trench. No time to worry about high fashion, sadly- He reminded himself, vaulting his body against the fence and scaling it rather quickly despite the heavy rain working against everything he try to do. However, now that he was within city limits, it was only a matter of hunting down a target. Hopefully this wouldn't prove too difficult, but the landscape offered abandoned buildings, fallen in tunnels, and rotting houses as hideaways.

This would be less of a hunt; more a game of viscous and violent hide and seek.

And with Gregory out in the open he appeared to be 'it'.

A soft grin cracked across his lips at how childish he'd made all of this sound. How amusing this should be then, and with one gloved hand held firmly against the hilt of his sword he pressed into the wasteland.

"Let the game begin."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

It had been a slow year. No work. A man like him could barely make the money needed for survival these days. Everything was big, fancy businesses. Nobody wanted the "Ruthless French Mercenary" anymore. The morning had been the same, quiet and cold, yet something felt off. His last job was three weeks ago, a small mission in Kuala Lumpur, but it had seemed to be such a long time ago. Since then he had been hiding out in Poland. The last tip he had gotten had one broken sentence written on it : RUSS- Decembre25-CHERNOBYL SETUP

The mercenary didn't recognize the ink, it didn't feel right, and what was Setup? Never the less a job in a job and he needed the money.

He set out on the ending days of November; he had only his supplies for the job, no means of transportation. He managed to hijack a plane without trace marks and made it their five hours before day break.

Something felt off.

He shook the thought out of his head trying to clear his mind, work and survival were the only two things that mattered.

The sharp sting of the icy wind cut him like a knife as he trekked through the ice and snow.

He saw a fence and ventured under it as a mole would do, and Ze mole he is.

Once to the surface again he hid out in an abandoned building, on the verge of collapse. There he waited for the game to begin.

His eyes twitched, his mind alert, when he heard a familiar voice, what was this man playing at, who had sent him here. Though he could not place the voice he knew it was bad news.

He approached the sound (being as egotistical as he is) and saw a tall, lean figure with an unmistakable blond head of well kempt hair. The figure had not turned around. Christophe felt his body go limp.

Bad news indeed.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Unlike quite a few other assassins on the market, Mr. Sharpe was rather well off when it came to riches, not only for familial reasons but putting yourself in a position of power; that is rather, being the master and not the dog-He'd worked up his own ring of killers and in the center, himself as their reign holder dealing out missions and signing checks in his father's name should need be. William wouldn't miss the money, not with the political collapse he needed to swim through in his job. He'd be far too busy.

But no.

Gregory was not here for the money, or the identification that would surely come with picking off a pesky free floater. The man was here purely and simply out of curiosity. The vague letter had intrigued him, pulled at something in his gut that urged him all the way from holiday in England to the decaying city before him. That's another thing; at least the location was fascinating if not dismal and disturbing. Not to mention a medical disaster waiting to happen.

Breathing the chemicals lacing the air around him was not exactly a primary concern at the moment. It should have perturbed him more, walking down the ruin of what was probably at the time a ruined neighborhood anyways- Children's toys left toppled and scattered, husks of what he presumed used to be vehicles littering the main roads. This street however seemed rather...empty.

Solemn.

It wasn't the scenery that tugged against the innards of his stomach, making them twist and turn. Though, that was a good part of it. The faint shuffling of another body echoing off fallen and crumbling houses is what finally caught his attention.

"Going to make it that easy for me, are you?"

He let his form seize up a bit, not noticeably of course, why would you ever give an opponent the advantage of witnessing your nerves tense. He made a point of keeping his back to the other -a dangerous option, but rather affective in mental manipulation. It showed, as his shoulders relaxed, that he was calm, confident and in no way frightened.

"Honestly I thought you'd give more of a chase, I'm rather disappointed you simply step into the open. Foolish, a move you'll certain-" Midway through his own sentence he leaned back on the heel of his left foot to pivot and face his opponent calmly, though every nerve in his body only tensed again.

"-regret..."

For a brief moment contemplation flashed across his features. Everything about the figure standing limply in the distance gave off a feeling of déjà vu. And though it may have taken a moment for him to finally reach realization, he recognized the rigged form. Tussled brown hair, sunken in eyes lined heavily with the weight of a harsh life. Most prominent however was the shovel strapped firmly against the man's back.

And the confidence in his expression simply fell.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

Terror

It coursed through his veins spreading like the plague.

His stomach a pit, a trench. His face expressionless it once was, but now agape.

Everything he had learned. About survival combat. About not dyeing...well that, that was all gone. Flushed down the drain in some flurry of lost friendship and sweltering emotion.

Who is this man, you may ask. The only person able to bring the French man to his knees (in more than one way). The only person in the world who was able to make him drop anything, anything and rush to his aid.

This, my friend is Christophe's right hand man, his partner in crime, and most of all his ami.

This is Gregory Sharpe.

His knees threatened to betray him but he held steady. The golden speckles in the blond man's icy blue eyes glimmered with frustration. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. This couldn't be possible. Such a horrid fate at this extreme should be left to Oedipus. No he was no tragic hero, he was a cold ruthless young French man, only nineteen years of age. And he, he was destined to murder his best friend.

* * *

**TIME STAMP: 11 years prior**

It was right before the war, the night was cool and the air seemed to caress my young body. He was late. He never was late. Gregory had had a disposition for being, and I quote "on the dot".

I sat on the roof, my mother asleep (what to do if she awoke!) and I waited.

He never came.

But when he sent four other boys to my house that fate full night of LA RESISTANCE I knew I still passed his mind.

I didn't see him for seven more years.

* * *

**7 years later**

I had just arrived from France, a trip I had insisted since the day we had arrived to this wretched town. As I made my way back to the house a long-lost person sat on my steps.

"Why now?" I spat.

He gave no reply other than the solemn look in his eye and I knew, no explanation was needed for his absence.

Even though I longed for one.

Many adventures came to follow, trying to make up for lost time.

Time never fully made up because,

when he left for his fancy elite collage,

I stayed behind.

And I never did see the boy again. And how I longed for his snide remarks, sense of leadership, and most of all his companionship as I spent long months lonely, traveling through rugged terrain.

Until today, because today I see him again. What a joyous reunion this should be, except not. For this day is quite horrific in its whole.

My mouth hung the ever so slightest agape. "G..gre.." the name couldn't leave my mouth whole. And one question hung in the air.

Why?

* * *

**Gregory POV**

For a brief moment, he let the broken fragments of what should have been his name hang weakly in the air, the weak whisper of what was usually a loud, boastful voice shattered by the cold Russian wind and splintered by the rain.

A fitting atmosphere.

He too wanted to know, why?

"Hello Christophe."

The words were soft, solemn and came out with a visible puff of breath that was dragged down with the rain.

The name sounded so foreign on his tongue and nearly burnt his senses as it passed his lips.

Of all cliché scenarios, here and now. And in such a terrible way.

Words, normally his forte, were absolutely lost upon the sight of what should be a rigid, angry French man trembling against the bite of ice water bombarding the two boys from above.

Years had come and gone, communication was desperately fought for in the first couple months of his second leave for college but keeping tabs on The Mole was harder than even he'd first imagined. And though he promised, swore to his friend it wouldn't be, their friendship fell into the gaping distance between them. Both gone in the other's eyes.

Though many a desperate attempt was made to forget, no matter how many times he tried to start off with a clean slate it was impossible. He could muddy and blur the images, the memories but that angry little French child was always there, in the back of his skull screaming himself hoarse in that thick, gorgeous accent of his, begging Gregory to remember.

He'd all but forgotten why he wanted to forget; it hurt.

It was as if the flood gates he'd erected within his own mind, after cracking and crumbling under the pressure of time had finally given way forcing the blond to remember every little detail. Not just the bigger things, missions, birthdays, milestones. But every finite little prick of a pin no one else would ever have stored still in their memory.

Every sideways glance, light shove, playful slur and awkward hug. All of their fits every little fist fight and every single speck of a bruise that blemished his porcelain skin after words.

It all hit him square in the chest at once, simultaneously pulling at his innards and making the boy feel disgustingly ill as he realized the both of them had maintained eye contact for far too long. He would turn away, but found his body paralyzed by the flecks of anger and veins of hurt coursing through Christophe's dull, tired green eyes.

The urge to flee had never been so prominent. To pretend this had never happened would be ideal.

Perhaps start over in some back road restaurant in the Ukraine, but not here.

Anywhere but here.

Anything but this.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

" .ha" his laugh was brittle, crack with loathing.

was this some sort of sick joke?

Nostalgia filled the Frenchman. He felt at him breaking point. The droplets fell like bullets, faster and harder than a minute before, stinging his forever tan skin. He could never forgive himself if he got himself killed. If he died, all that he had ever worked form would be ruined. He would be a disgrace to his broken mother. He would be nothing, only a body in the ground. He is nobody, but not yet nothing. And he intends to keep it that way. He intends to live his limbo (life unsuitable to be called so). He intended to not let anyone or anything interfere either.

Though this may set a problem he has no idea how to fix.

"I wish people were like dirt, then I could just dig through them and keep on going." he paused "But it's not like that at all, people are alive, people car..e" he dropped the last words, slightly breaking eye contact with his old companion.

"So...I see your field of work suites you quite well, and you have always been the smarter of us" he looked into the man's icy eyes again "what do you suppose we do?"

His voice was cracked with frustration, but his physique was calm.

Unusual for the hot- headed man.

His eyes threatened him, it would be so easy, with the rain as a blanked emotion capable. But that was something unimaginable, something weak. And no, he was not weak, not one little bit.

He stood the weird weather taking its toll on his ripped up clothing.

: He held his knife.

Letting the blade sink deeper and deeper into his own skin.

He fought back.

He thought he had won the battle with himself.

But one thing you should know is that you can never truly win.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

People did care. Gregory cared, or at least had at one point in time.

It might seem to Christophe that he did not anymore. Hopefully his hesitation proved otherwise, body ridged and screaming silently for this to come to an abrupt and idealistically less solemn end.

It was painfully evident they'd reached an impasse. Had it been anyone else either side would have promptly attacked at so much as the sound of the other. He was almost relieved their bodies had stalled at once.

The accusation was however, correct. Though Gregory was not as hands on, he was in fact very skilled at all he did. "Someone has to handle the paper work." He joked, voice dry and nearly humorless. Anything to drown out the others pained laughter, or the way his voice seemed so strained to tether itself together. It was almost thinkable that the other may in fact crack.

No, this was Christophe. Gregory couldn't recall a single time, except one very painful instance, when the other had cried. Even then, it was brief, short lived choking sounds that the French boy had quickly swallowed up for fear of the other judging his emotions.

"I am afraid though, old friend-"

He let his mouth hang open, agape and collecting rain water unwillingly in contemplation as he slowly shook his head, searching feverishly in his own thoughts for a solution. "-I've not the damnedest clue. It appears we've no leeway on the matter."

Being nearly as hard headed as the other, if they were to fight it would be right down to the bitter end. The French and the Brit would go at it endlessly, gashing each other up in exchange for deep purple hemorrhages. Punching, hitting, and swinging until there was nothing left but bone and blood- that is to say, should either of them be able to strike. Despite their separation, it appeared each still cared for the other just as much as when they were children.

Though neither showed it too openly then either.

Only if behind closed doors and in the presence of simply each other were they friends.

It was a relationship no one truly understood. But everyone who knew of the two little European boys knew at least this; At one point in time, Christophe De'Lorne and Gregory Sharpe were inseparable.

Crisp, tired blue eyes scanned his opponent's movements. Every blink, twitch.

Each inhale and exhale. Gliding his gaze over scores of scars piled onto the boys flesh over time, down to his trembling fist and how it wrapped, coiling in pained desperation around the blade in its palm. Willingly drawing blood from himself if only to stall a bit more.

Stand your ground Sharpe.

No.

Slowly, his firm grip on the coiled hilt of his most prized Rapier began to loosen. Lithe, thin gloved fingers pulling away slowly, gently. Until the hand was held up in an act of submission, showing the other that at least for the moment, he had no intentions for battle.

Doing something he never had for anyone before, Gregory had left himself open.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He stood studying the man.

His hand bled more.

It was numb.

Everything was.

He heard him speak, it wasn't harsh, but his tone was not friendly.

Oh how long he had yearned to hear the voice of this one person, and finally when he gets his wish its painfully, dry and cracked.

So rough it almost made his ears bleed.

Bitterness and uncertainty hung in the damp air. He chewed his lip nervously, what to do, what to do. His rather large ears twitched listening carefully to every word the Brit managed to push out. Oh and how painful that was, how it broke him inside. A voice once rich and cocky, now broken and dead resembling his own which was bitter with a dry sense of humor and now listless. He took a slow breath trying to take all of it in, the situation what was to come..

He tightened his grip on his blade, studying the other with a blank face until something quite interesting. The man had dropped his weapon, hands up in surrender. Was this some kind of sick joke, all of this? Or had some rekindling of lost, old feeling taken place. His mind swam, his skin pricked. Just the sight of the "undefeatable" surrendering made him uneasy. Gregory Sharpe didn't surrender; he fought, till the end. He had learnt that the hard way, but luckily he was the same and equally hard headed. He was stunned, an animal of habit turning a new corner. So stunned in fact that he didn't even notice the blade leave his grasp, or his knees betray him. But no it was not his body's fault. His body never made these kind of mistakes. His knees had not betrayed him. But he had found that something else quite worse had happened. Someone, someone else was there. And that person had cut him.

He felt the sharpness of a blade and the sting of wood upon his legs. And once he was down he knew that he had been set up.

Mistake

Mistake

Mistake

Is all he could think as he was knocked unconscious by wood and metal beating his limp body.

Dammit, how stupid could he be?

He had let his guard down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Christophe POV**

The last thing he saw before it all went black was a tall blond man enraged rushing towards his seemingly lifeless corpse

And alas his jade green eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

It happened in record time, whomever it was seemed to have been yielding for the two. Waiting for an opening, and Gregory had provided it with one simple gesture. With the two of them swimming through a whirlwind of confused stale emotions two opposing men, none of the likes he'd ever come across before from any ring had swooped in, their images blurred by the wind and rain.

First he only saw the other falter, thinking that perhaps his knees had given in as Gregory's felt his own may soon. Christophe had never let his emotions over run him like that, it wasn't something he could afford.

Before the boys knees ever fully touched ground he had already realized they were under a very poorly constructed ambush.

In time with each other, Christophe's attackers reached for their own weapons to continue beating the man at their feet, and as their palms made contact with whatever weapons they'd chosen to carry at the time Gregory's fingers found themselves curled back around the hilt of his sword, ripping it from the sheath on his hip.

Though it only took seconds for him to cross the few yards between them it felt ages, and in those precious few moments allowed the men to beat his former companion into unconsciousness.

Solemnity and reminisce were quickly replaced with an overflowing rage and everything seemed to be timed, their movements corresponding with one an others as if it were some horribly choreographed play;

The first attacker raised his body into an upright position, arms over his head, wielding his weapon, as the others was brought back down on an already out of commission Mole. As the first began to bear down again, this time aimed for the man rushing him, Gregory planted one heel firmly into the cracked tar road bringing the other leg up and landing a hard kick dead center on his chest.

This knocked him onto his back, angering him yes, but giving the Brit time to steady both feet back on the ground. Using the momentum to pivot his body and jam the tip of his sword through a very stunned cohort of the first man. The blade pierced jagged and with no technique, something he would surely scoff himself for later. But the blow was damn near fatal, ripping through just above his collar bone at where his neck and shoulder met sending a beautiful spray of red scattering through the rain and falling with it to the ground.

This man was easy to kick down, and left to bleed out rather than finished off. Not that his plan was to let the other suffer, his friend had simply taken it upon himself to finish what they were surely sent here to do.

Gregory found himself with trip wire wrapped securely around his throat, threatening to crush his trachea and suffocate the man.

Idiot!

How could you forget about the first man! You do not make mistakes like this, you are a bloody Sharpe!

No matter.

Even as he was forced to his knees over Christophe's limp body, staring his own fate in the back of the head stubborn young Sharpe would not let himself be taken down.

He couldn't fight back with a sword, at this range it was too long, the man was over his back practically frotting him to keep the struggling Brit on his knees. So he relinquished his grip and with his sight beginning to spot and go black felt around half blind for the knife Christophe had been clutching, ripping it from his hand so he could throw his fist back and clip his attacker in the side.

He fell away, cussing in Russian.

As quickly as he could, Gregory scrambled to his feet.

Knife still in hand and free hand clutching his throat, he wheezed, harsh blue eyes and brow furrowed dangerously. "Normally I would try to think some witty quip to throw your way."

He rasped angrily, flipping the knife in his palm before slamming the blade through the strangers eye.

The cussing stop, his body went limp and with a hollow thud he fell to the rain drenched ground leaving Gregory to frantically collect himself.

Mole.

Christophe.

If his throat didn't burn he would have choked out the others name, dropping back to his side.

For what felt like hours he tried to wake him, checking his vitals in every possible way he knew.

Breathing.

He's alive.

"Not for long if I don't get you out of this rain." He mused softly, voice barely above a whisper as he trace a gloved hand over the small of the boys back, checking the damage.

It would have to wait until they were some where dry. Preferably radioactive. Not the likely seeing as they were in the middle of Pripyat he couldn't cross the barricades with dead wait on his shoulders.

Shelter would have to be found within city limits.

Dreadful thought.

But not much choice.

Gently, with as much care as he could given the situation, he hoisted the other up into his arms noting that they must look rather silly; A frail blonde man carrying a much more shaped, rugged Mercenary.

Christophe would have a fit when he found out Gregory had carried him like this - probably shout at him about out it is he who is the needy little princess, not the esteemed Mole.

Oh Christophe, I only hope you wake up if only to yell at me for that.

An abandoned hotel rise. Abandoned just as everything else was; left undisturbed by man nor time. Everything in it's place and though decayed it was better than the fallen houses or rotting hospitals. Sure it was as disheveled as anything else. But it had beds. Beds that were in tact. Luckily on the first floor, and as Christophe lay resting after what must have been his dozenth check up Gregory busied himself. Walking along the crumbling halls, shuffling about in the small lobby, noting just how eerie it actually was.

How everything was so.

Untouched.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He saw black

An ocean of nothing

"I'm dead"

"Surely there is no possibility of my survival".

It was not what he expected death to be though, not even close. He expected the fiery pits of hell, Dante's inferno, not a sea of ebony. And the worst was the throbbing, horrible pain throughout his, wait…throughout his body. Then he couldn't be dead. If he wasn't dead, then where the hell was he? "Think back Christophe, think where I was". Gregory, the beautiful blond man, icy blue eyes, the mission…and oh damn. He was ambushed…by Gregory? No non! I'm possible, Gregory would never do that to him, and he was his best friend. Non! What was he thinking…best friend?, what kind of sick lie is this. They weren't friends, and hadn't been for a very long time.

Nostalgia crept its way into his dream like state making everything slur.

And then his eyes fluttered open.

And he was awake

And he saw Gregory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Christophe POV**

"You…you tried to kill me, where are we...what happened, what is this?" He tried to remain calm, but soon grew impatient, Gregory seemed distant, not here, not anywhere.

Christophe scrambled to get up and take a swing at the dead looking man, failing miserably and just ending up in pain, falling back onto the bed. Bed, where was he. In a bed, somewhere, in pain, with a murderous best friend?, no impossible, even his mind found it hard to believe that the lad was responsible for the attack.

Especially since he had saved him…hadn't he?

"I insist you inform me of the situation!" he shouted angrily, and when he found no reply he only let out a weak "Greg, please…" His tired green eyes were dull and he seemed dead, but this was worse than any death he was sure, way worse.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

What a preposterous thought.

That he himself had organized the aforementioned ambush. Surely he could not honestly believe it.

Gregory sat, silently in the door way. His black Trench coat shed and discarded, hung on one of the various chairs back in the lobby to dry with an equally soaked burnt-autumn orange argyle sweater. Expensive. Probably ruined, though that was the least of his concerns.

The man looked rigid, and unlike himself at all; fitted white dress shirt clinging to his damp form and the hair he worked to straighten ever morning curled ridiculously from the weight of water. (something he disliked about himself; naturally curly hair that twisted like little orphan Annie when not cared for.)

Though some how he managed to look in some sort of semblance like a refined gentleman. Arms crossed tight over his chest and mouth pressed in a thin contemplative line as he watch the other throw himself into a near panic attack.

Even as Christophe thrashed into an upright position in attempt to attack he stood still, only raising an eyebrow in mock amusement.

Whilst the boy was out he'd contemplated whom had actually been behind the earlier fiasco.

"Calm yourself-" He spoke, softly. Trying to get the other to stop sputtering his words. "-you are injured after all."

The first of this conversation, and his words were not even to defend himself against the others ludicrus accusations. But rather words of worry for the others injuries.

"As for the where, it's an old hotel in Pripyat. The only building that looked trust worthy for two men in need of recovery."

When they were friends, very close friends-Gregory had taken an almost motherly role, worrying for the other even despite his own love for their reckless adventures. He need not worry for the other physically, Christophe could take care of himself in the field.

It was the others emotional distress that always left the blond wondering if his friend was actually alright. He knew though he was not.

Was he ever, really?

He could see through the crease in the others brow, and just how drained his eyes were of any life - more so than usual. Oh so much more...He looked so very tired...- that Christophe was in no mood for the normally harsh and analytical tone of Gregory's voice.

"Only because you said please." He muttered, in response to the others soft, almost frightened whimper. "And don't call me Greg, it makes me sound dreadfully over aged."

An attempt at humor.

Anything to break the ice as he strode over, sitting carefully, cautiously on the corner of the bed. Keeping a bit of distance between him and the other.

Silence took center stage for a moment, Gregory's eyes locked on the outside of the hotel room door, staring down the straight shot into the eerie lobby. "We were attacked, and please do believe me when I say 'we'. I would never try something so underhanded. Not to you at the very least."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He frowned.

But he couldn't stop the slight grin the found its place on his mouth when Gregory tried to make a joke.

"So, you say it was an ambush on both of us, I believe you, but I have two questions" he paused briefly to ponder the situation at hand "Why ze fuck did you carry me!?, and on a more serious note, who would want us dead?, they must have known…about us I mean.." he sat up slowly trying to compose himself as well as a broken man in a bed could.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Oh heavens that smile.

He hadn't seen it in years, admittedly it was quite refreshing.

And the fact that he believed him was a great relief. Not that Christophe could do anything whilst injured. Gregory clicked his tongue in a show of annoyance.

"I do suppose I could have left you to freeze to death in the rain. Can't you hear it? It would have damn near pierced your flesh if I had. Secondly, I'm not at all sure. Perhaps a core opposing my own."

It was entirely possible. "'About us'? Why word it like that, you make it sound terribly sketchy."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"My dear" he said accent thick.

"Everything's sketchy, but why me..?, everyone i hate is dead, and I'm basically dead my self" he paused still smiling, emerald green eyes coming to life with a slight glimmer "Leave me to die?" he laughed "you wouldn't dare" he chewed his lips trying to keep the smile down.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Dear.

What an odd word choice.

Gregory himself used darling and dear but it was more habitual in his nature. He couldn't recall if Christophe had ever used it before. "Well perhaps they wished to render you completely deceased in favor of basically?" The boy stated in a matter of fact tone, folding one leg over the other so he could rest his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand.

"Oh most definitely. In fact it crossed my mind. That's the exact reason I lugged your lifeless body all the way up to this god forsaken inn."

A smile of his very own spread across the boys pale lips like wildfire showing off what a politician he was at heart as he smiled from the side of his mouth rather than full on grinned.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Zen, zat was not the last we will hear from zem, non?"

It was nice to see that smile again, even if for a sad reason, they where however in a bit of a pickle.

"Because, we are not dead, and more specifically...I am not dead" he shifted around digging in his pants for something.

When he found it his raised it, putting the cancer stick in his mouth "Some zhings going on" he insisted

"I've never had to deal with a situation of this extremity before...or something this, this weird"

* * *

**Gregory POV**

It was amazing that Cigarette hadn't been completely soaked through.

He'd always meant to get the other a vintage steel case for those damned cancerous sticks but had never gotten around to it.

Hm.

"True enough, someone wanted us not only dead, but in a state of shock and pain whilst they executed the action. Why else would they call both of us here; oblivious of each others presence until the very last moment. Rather peculiar."

"Though I wouldn't say weird, not with everything I'm sure you've seen. Together we have seen hell break loose in the literal sense."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Well yes. But first can you.."

He spoke softly for a moment, then his expression hardened. "Come here" he said sternly. He needed to clear a few things up before they began a new adventure, for Gregory Sharpe, and Christophe Delorne. With each other they would never fail, he was sure of that.

"Come on" he said again when he found the other staring at him like he was a crazy little kid.

"Please" he growled.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Clear a few things up? What ever could that mean.

He did stare, a bit confused for a moment. They were already on the bed, sitting only about two feet apart, so why would he want him closer?

Gregory's brows raised as the other begrudgingly snarled out the word please, and he uncrossed his legs in order to scoot the short distance separating the both of them.

"What."

He asked rather huffily.

Agitated.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"I uhh.." a slight blush crept across his face, but he forced himself to keep eye contact.

"When you left eet was hard and i guess what Im trying to say is that"..he scowled.

"I guess I missed you?" he mumbled, frustrated at this man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Christophe POV**

stupid

stupid

stupid Gregory

He frowned

casting his cigarette aside and staring blankly at him.

"Come on Brit, I know you heard me!" he crossed his arms angrily.

He shifted on the mattress uncomfortably.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

If his words hadn't thrown Gregory for a loop, that blush certainly did.

It was so unlike the other to confess something like that, what was it he used to say? That he'd needed no one, wanted no one? Never the mind.

The crooked smile across Gregory's features slowly evened out, and the British man reached an arm over to, very gently, pat Christophe on the back.

"I'm sorry my leave was so abrupt, on both accounts."

He murmured, keeping the contact with his former friend.

"For the record, I've missed you quite a bit as well."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He redirected his gaze down to his hands.

"Don't think this means I need you, or anything"

"I don't need anyone" he said defiantly.

"no one"

"But...what happened?" suddenly his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and loneliness.

He thought back to those nights when he longed for someone, anyone, but especially him, to be there.

But, he was not, and that's how it was.

A memory. All so bitter-sweet.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Of course.

He would not push at the others boundaries, and let him think whatever he wished. But Gregory, being a man of people and words could read the others defiance as more of a wall.

It was so difficult watching the transition from bordering anger to agonizing loneliness in Christophe's eyes and he gently removed his hand.

"Life, darling. I became rather busy in my studies, not to mention the ring I run. Somewhere a long the line we simply lost communication."

If he was aware of just how much his friend had ached for him, maybe he would have tried, fought harder to keep in touch. He could have come to visit, or dropped a line on his missions.

He just did not.

And really had no excuse.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"I see" he said coldly. And of course that was a lie, and he made sure that he knew it. Busy life, snobby style, leave Christophe behind. But oh how selfish he was being, of course he had responsibilities. He couldn't expect him to hang around forever. Christophe "ze mole" Delorne was a nobody, and Gregory was somebody.

He didn't have the right to expect communication.

He was an ass, but he thought that they had something, something different in their relationship. Something special.

"I guess i was wrong" he thought to himself, oblivious to his sad expression, and damp eyes, threatening to open the flood gates, held back by his trained composition.

No emotion, none at all. Every thing is gone.

Nobody wants you anymore Christophe.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Even with as rigid as his body was, it was rather obvious, at least to him to Gregory who had known Christophe near all of his life, that the boy was distressed. He could see the rough disposition falter. Should he address it, that would only anger the French man.

How to go about this.

Of course Gregory had been in the wrong, he was painfully aware. To just leave Christophe alone like he did. He was only thinking of himself at the time, of course. Gregory had always been a bit of a narc, so when the opportunity to school in England arose he all but jumped at the chance. Unlike when he was a child though, despite perfect grades, he didn't like it. He certainly isn't very fond of where he's at.

Not compared to where he would rather be.

The concentrated look of abandonment in Christophe's murky eyes set him in a rather uncomfortable position, and he shifted just a bit. Letting silence hang in the air.

"I know I hurt you."

He began, hands folded in his lap. "I shouldn't have run off and abandoned you as I did. It wasn't fair."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Its fine" he said in a whisper

"Doesn't matter anymore, I mean" he paused, Nothing really mattered, He had a right to his life, he had to leave. Christophe just had chosen to mope instead of doing anything worthwhile.

"Its nothing, I'm nothing"

"I don't think I ever was"

"You have a right to live your life, I'm selfish and useless, you should of left me to die" He spoke sadly trying to be stern and bitter, but failing miserably.

"Excuse my selfishness" he allowed one tear to fall, but he turned away to shield himself from the icy blue eyes.

He was alone, he had to except that, even in a room full of a thousand people, because things would never be the same.

Not now,

not ever.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

The entirety of this situation was rather...Disturbing.

But as the other slowly began to break down, it became harder and harder to watch. Trying to keep his own stoic disposition was begining to fail as well. "Daft." He whispered, barely audible.

"I've every right to live my life, I'm not denying that. But I should have considered you as well. You were /part/ of it for christs sake. You don't honestly believe that..." His words tapered off, and he was surprised his body hadn't gone into shock from the other suggesting he simply let him die.

"You're not nothing."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Oh thanks" he said sarcastically, sniffling quietly, trying to hold back tears that shouldn't be there, but were sure to come.

"You know what funny, I'm actually happy that you went out and made something for yourself, I mean your doing _fantastic_" he stretched the last word unnecessarily, but wholeheartedly meant what he had said.

But still the tears tried to push through.

So he kept his gaze averted.

"You can leave you know, why are you worried, I can see it so don't deny it...and how do you know if the rolls were reversed it wouldn't have left you dead, in the snow?"

It came out harsher than he had meant it to but he got his point across.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

What to do.

He'd no idea.

For being the man who used to know everything about 'the mole' Gregory had no idea how to bring him down from anything like this. Normally he was rather easy to console, let him blow off steam and he'd be fine. But this was different, this was harsher.

This was sincere anger, distaste and loathing for the British man.

He could only retort the way he knew best. Loudly.

"Well just because I'm doing well for myself doesn't mean I'm exactly happy." He snapped back, form suddenly rigid and hands pressed flat against the bed.

"Of course I'm worried you bloody git, it doesn't matter if you would have left me to rot in the street. I would expect nothing more of you!"

He was aware perhaps he'd better bring his tone down, letting anger seize the conversation would do nothing to help their situation.

Still.

He stood, thrusting himself off the bed and onto his feet, gesturing wildly. "Yes, Christophe. I left. I completely deserted you with barely a warning and I'm sorry, I know what I did was wrong. I know it hurt you."

But he didn't sound angry, not truly. It was more of a feverish distress. An anger not towards Christophe, but himself.

"So curse me as you curse god or wish the roles were reversed so you would get the chance to be the one to leave me, but that doesn't change that, even though I fucked up, you were never 'nothing' to me. And you know that. I put up with you when no one else would, for years. You were my entire night sky, Christophe. And I shouldn't of let you go easy as I did."

"If you want me to leave, say so."

"And I will."

His expression fell suddenly, sorrowful and depressed.

"I've done it before." He whispered, barely enough for the other to hear as he stared him down with glossed over eyes.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"But..I don't want you too"

"I don't want you to leave me ever again" everything mad left his voice, leaving him sounding so un-christophe. A shell of a person he once was. He didn't think he could handle being on his own again. Seeing him again had awoken something inside of him, something he thought had died a long him ago.

He laid down once more staring out of the window and letting the tears roll slowly out of his eyes, like someone who had never cried, he made no sounds except for his subtle breathing.

He needed him by his side.

"Don't leave again...I know I'm stubborn, but its as if you were made to deal with my stupidity, I shouldn't have said that I'm sorry" but what was wrong with his life, he had had so much handed to him from such an early age, parents, money, wits. Christophe had a catholic obsessive mother and a little back kitten.

"Don't look at me though"

"I feel weak"

He licked his dry lips.

"Don't feel bad for leaving me, it was the right thing to do at that time, i think..."

"But i don't know anything for sure anymore" he spoke calm and soft.

"Don't work yourself up over me."

He exhaled sharply.

The stale smell of abandonment hung in the air.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Christophe, instead of retorting and fighting fire with fire, asked him very meekly, stay. Simply stay.

For a brief moment he caught the others forest green eyes with his own.

And everything slowly collapsed in on itself.

All of the anger laced in their voices seemed ripped right out of the room and thrown down the empty hallway at the sound of Christophe's cracked, whimpered plea's. Another foreign sight that nearly knocked Gregory flat on his ass.

He was correct, though. The two from a very young age had seemed to balance each other out. Or send the both of them into ridiculous amounts of trouble, both feeding into each others reckless sense of adventure. Though Gregory would always bring Christophe down from his hype, keep the angry boy level headed and in line while Christophe reminded Gregory that you had to fight tooth and nail for your own cause.

For what you really wanted.

And Gregory knew what he really wanted.

"So I will not leave." He stated simply.

He wanted this, here. Now.

He longed for the various fist fights, the bruises they left. The awkward tension when either were stuck in too close a proximity with each other or hulled up in some dank little motel for the sake of a client.

He wanted Christophe's dry, childish sense of humor. His fury and passion, the excitement that being with the boy had always brought.

He wanted to be friends again.

To be those two awkward little European children on the block who would sometimes hold hands and drag each other around without really knowing why but knowing they had to be touching in that moment. To verify each others existence.

To verify they weren't alone.

"You're not weak. You're human, and don't you put words in my mouth, because I feel awful."

Quietly he strode across the small room, looming over the bed a moment before sitting on it's edge and laying on his back, next to the other and listened to the quivering breaths Christophe took as he tried to calm himself.

"We'll never move forward if we're hung up on the past."

He murmured.

"So, starting now. Please let us try to set things right again."

The urgency in his voice wrapped around the stale abandonment in the air, trying to suffocate it out. Pleading with Christophe to trust him again. Just this once. Just one more chance.

Gingerly he slipped a hand over the others form, taking Christophe's in his. Verifying his existence. Verifying that he was here.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Your right" he tried to pay no attention the fluttering in his chest when he felt the others touch upon him. It was like when they were young, longign for companionship, to not be alone, but some how it seemed slightly different. He couldn't take anymore of this, he was being quite foolish, and not himself at all.

"God what ze 'ell, I'm being a pussy today, I don't know what came over me." he laughed heavily, picking up some of his old trouble making, and stubborn air, something only being around Gregory could re awaken.

He gripped tighter on his hand, afraid that he was just a ghost, and if he let go..even for a second, that he would disappear.

What a silly thought of course, and he knew it was irrational...

But he couldn't seem to put it out of his mind.

A ladder had fallen into the pit, golden and self richus.

That ladder was Gregory.

And it was almost as if now, with their fingers intertwined, that he had never left, and that they were ten years old again. Playing games, arguing, and adventuring, but most of all just enjoying each others presence.

Christophe struggled to sit upright again, and even more to stand up. Facing the taller boy now, hands still locked together he let out a chuckle

"This is pretty gay don't you think?" he spoke smirking as he felt the long exhaled of his friend nip at his cold nose.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

As quickly as the mood had seemed to plummet, he could feel it slowly beginning to rise again. The normally rigid and stubborn disposition surrounding Christophe beginning to return, and with it grew a soft smile across the blonds features.

Heat surged from the others body into his own, and even though to the touch they were both freezing, he could feel it where their hands connected and their fingers laced. The touch eliciting lost memories, buried feelings and awakening a sense of relief. Of happiness he'd not felt in a while.

They both feared the same.

Loss.

Both had premise, experience. Heartache. Due to that one little word.

But they were adults now, everything happened from here on out was up to them. Them alone.

As Christophe rose to his feet, Gregory rose with him. Never once did he let the hold between their gloved hands falter, staring the couple of inches that separated their height down at the other. His eyes scanning down the boy before him, eyes catching on every little scar visible on his exposed skin.

Really he should choose an outfit that covers his arms at least. Especially in such weather.

Eventually sharp blue eyes locked with their hold.

"I don't recall you ever thinking so when we were children. In fact it was oft you who would put your hand in mine. I would simply use it as leverage to tote you around town."

Please let these old wounds mend.

Despite his joking reminiscence, he was contemplating. Calculating. Trying to formulate a plan to keep the other close and in person. Oceans in between them would only be detrimental.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Fine, whatever" he tried to sound tough and angry, but was failing. I mean after all Gregory had always read him like an open book, there wasn't anything he could keep from him. He would eventually find out.

He always did.

And that was good, it helped him. He wouldn't be anywhere without Gregory, he'd probably be dead. Spending his childhood alone, cooped up in his house afraid of the world and all of the possibilities it held for him. Because he really was afraid. And Gregory helped him over come a lot. But he would never tell him that, no he's to headstrong for something like that...he thinks himself so low though.

Its good that someone finally broke the surface, shattered the ice, and brought him from his head into he world.

He wasn't comfortable on a regular.

But now, even as the icy air stung his skin, he felt a warmth between them. something age, and time could never take away from them.

He stared into the pools of water. "Eye contact is important" he reminded himself. His cheeks became slightly pink and his facial expression seemed to read as **annoyed** an large letters. You would have thought that that was what he was right now too, if not for the glimmer in his eyes.

He didn't want to move.

He feared he would miss something.

He had already missed too much.

So he stared at his perfectly proportioned face, ice-blue eyes, and pink lips just a little bit too long, at a little bit too close proximity.

He knew Gregory would notice.

And that was okay for now.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

If not Gregory then who else would have taken care of the boy? His own mother, from what Christophe had told him at least - was absolutely dreadful. Only in polite company did she seem bearable. Even then. There was always something...off about the woman.

It was always him Christophe would run to with open wounds, putting up a fuss and fight when Gregory tried to clean and bandage various open gashes he'd gotten from the Marsh's dog trying to run past the neighborhood or whilst spying.

Always Gregory to fight the boy into submission when he was ill and give at least an attempt at nursing him better.

Christophe fought him along the way, tooth and nail.

But it was never sincere. Convincing, yes.

But never sincere.

He may not have been physically dependent on Christophe, but looking back his parents could tell anyone that the two were practically eachothers only friends. Sure Gregory had peers, people he socialized with. Never like he had with the young French boy though.

The two would stay out for hours on end at night, even after curfew. After Christophe had bent Gregory in such a way he would disobey curfew of course - exploring the Colorado woods and playing Mission Impossible. It was Christophe who brought out Gregory's sense of adventure, the only one to ever see Gregory in full as he actually was and not just some rich, studious snob.

Which he was.

But oh there was so much more.

And only the young Mole knew the depths of his personality. Even now that they were older.

The annoyed expression was simply discarded with a soft smile and even softer chuckle.

You can't hide from me Christophe.

His eyes shifted back and forth between Christophe's, examining the flecks of brown and the ring of hazel that stained the inside of each iris making the dull coloration pop if only by that much.

Gregory scolded himself.

Thinking another mans eyes to be so beautiful.

Thinking Christophe's eyes to be so beautiful.

It took the feeling of his smoke stained breath against Gregory's own mouth for him to realize the drastic proximity, it made the lids of his eyes rather heavy. It wasn't as if he was tired, no.

He couldn't quite place the feeling...

Nor could he bring himself to acknowledge a voice in the very back of his skull, shouting from the very depths of the darkest corners of his mind.

Screaming for Christophe to close the gap.

Before he realized and regained conscious control of his own body.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

Christophe knew he couldn't escape the all knowing look of Gregory's eyes. Everything seemed to melt around them, It was like they had created a new world, one that had been there all along calling to them as there lost souls drifted far and close until they met again. Christophe noticed the Gregory staring at him, almost..no he tried to push the thought out of his mind. But before he could think properly his body took action betraying him, and moving closer to the blond, their noses brushing and eyes locked.

He couldn't move back.

Only forward.

Into the future.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Terribly cliche as it all sounded, even in the middle of desolate Pripyat, in this dank, decaying hotel. Everything felt as though it were perfectly alright. As though time had slowed around the two boys, allowing them to revel in their reconciliation. Even the heavy rain had slowed enough to provide rhythmic atmosphere to whatever this was.

Every moral fiber in his body cringed, but even his better judgement could not break through the haze that had settled in the room. His crisp blue eyes glazed over with emotion he would never be able to explain as he gazed down at the other.

There lips must of only just barely touched, no more than their noses had been. That slight of contact, that simple brush was enough to create a spark.

A spark that hastily lit years of emotional debris causing nearly a decades worth of unfed emotions, setting foreign feelings and unidentifiable affections ablaze like wildfire.

Feelings he never wanted to admit he'd had.

A longing for the other tugging at his chest that he had spent the greater half of his life of ignoring refused to be ignored as he tilted his jaw just enough to catch the young Mercenaries lips with his own.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

Soft,

the feeling was soft and dangerous.

Christophe listened to the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain outside. His face now blushing ferociously. Its not like he hadn't thought about this before. Gregory's good looks, beautiful blue eyes, and perfect mouth. It's not like he didn't expect this to happen.

Sexuality was something that rarely ever crossed the french mans mind. He was to busy, to worried, something had always gotten in the way. And strangely enough physicality was foreign to him, he had never gone through the "experimental faze"

No

He had never given it the slightest thought, only ever when he was with his friend.

That's why he was surprised when their lips met each other. Surprised at how soft those perfect lips were, how good he felt, smelt, everything was perfect. He kissed him back before pulling back slightly. Suddenly unsure if the other was mistaken, if this was an accident.

He hoped it wasn't and accident.

For that would be a terrible, horrible, cruel joke.

He couldn't pretend he hadn't thought of doing this before.

They would sit, hand in hand on the roof of Gregory's house star gazing. And oh how he had wanted to lean over and taste him. But he had pushed those feelings aside and regarded them as a deep secret adoration.

And boy was he wrong.

"Uhh." his voice cracked, his checks burning red as he looked down, avoiding eye contacted.

"I umm.." he didn't know where to begin, he needed Gregory's help, but now Gregory was the one he was facing. In the rain, in an abandoned building, in a long forgotten place.

What to do?

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Unlike the other, Gregory was rock solid when it came to his sexuality.

He liked women.

That's as far as it went; He was a perfectly heterosexual male who had never any intentions of a romantic relationship with another man.

And that's why this was so bloody confusing.

He was nearly as lost as the other, even more so when the contact was lost.

It took away the burning in his chest and left a fluttering in his stomach that had never been there before. Maybe once, a long time ago under a fluke.

It was difficult to tell, due to their proximity, if it was the heat from Christophe's face, or his own cheeks that had been set alight.

Staring back at the other a moment, pupils dilated impossibly wide under siege and bombardment of something he'd tried to stave off since they were children.

Why here, why no in this place.

Could the timing be any more horrible?

Or perfect.

Gregory found trouble finding his own voice, hand limp in Christophe's as his thoughts slowly began returning, and then racing.

"I'm..."

"I'm not sure what to make of this..."

There had been times, of course, when they were children. Off wherever, doing whatever.

He would catch himself staring.

Or on the roof top, when they were holding hands.

Even when just roaming around the woods.

He'd wondered now and again.

What it might be like to kiss his friend.

Those thoughts were all very quickly squelched under the heel of his boot however. He continued to deny for years.

How could he ever like another boy.

**Why** did he have to like Christophe De'Lorne?

His best friend.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

Christophe's face became sad.

He rested his head on the others shoulder not wanting to look at him.

"I guess there's nothing to make of this is there?"

"Your straight...right?"

The words left his mouth dry and cold.

He wanted a no.

Then again he wasn't even sure of his preference, how greedy of him. He wanted his best friend all to himself, not to share with any lady. They would adventure and things would be good, as long as they were together.

Every thing became so confusing.

He let out a short breath dreading the response he knew was to come.

This was all just one big

mistake.

That's all, there was no possibility that he had ever crossed the others mind, they were a strict hetero-friendship. And he feared that what was to come was far worse than any "friend-zoning".

And through all there nights and day they spent together, his were the only eyes that wandered.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Should he try to explain away the situation?

Yes, Christophe I am straight but have always had a strange fascination with you. Always you, only ever you.

"I am." He rasped, mouth try and voice cracked. Sounding so very unsure of himself.

Sounding nervous, and not like Gregory at all.

To be fair, Gregory had been just as greedy over the years. If recollection served, he would always become rather uppity on rare occasion someone else stole Christophe's attention. He would become loud, obnoxious and act as a know it all to try and regain his friends eyes.

Perhaps they had made a mistake.

It hadn't felt like that though, he knew what he'd felt.

Pure, unfiltered, undiluted passion.

All of those little thoughts, inner whispers and wondering he'd stowed away over the years had all been set loose. And now they were swimming about his head. Making him wonder why.

How.

"It's simply...you.." He trailed off, the last word nearly falling from the sentence.

Him.

That was it, it was just him.

Because Christophe was Christophe. That is why he liked him.

For him.

The fog clouding his mind scattered and his posture shot up straight, the hand in Christophe's giving a soft squeeze.

"That's it." He laughed out. Feeling everything click into place."I've been so desperately confused about it all these years but the answer is simple as that!"

There was no immediate explanation but knowing Gregory there would be soon enough.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Your so weird"

His words muffled into the fabric of Gregory's clothes.

He didn't understand him at all. All of this "its simply you" talk. And what did that even mean...

"Am i hearing this right?" he started

"I'm straight, but its you, Ive found the answer aha" he dead pans in a mock English accent.

"Please elaborate"

He knew of his brief stint with Wendy Testaburger, and few other young ladies. He never seemed gay? is that the right word? Bi-curious? Hell if i know

Damn this guy was confusing, just when you think you get used to him, he spits something completely weird out, somthing that throws you off completely leaving you wondering what the hell just happened.

Because really.

What the hell did just happen?

* * *

**Gregory POV**

"Oh you daft frog!" He sang, ripping his hand from the others, only so he could push back and cup the others face.

All of the ambition, passion and borderline obnoxious excitement had returned to his voice. He'd clicked himself into one of those 'i know something you don't, there for I am better' moods.

One of those moods that sent him around the room, gesturing wildly and talking his lungs out.

Only with Christophe was he ever so decomposed.

"It's because; you're. **you**." He'd managed to calm the relief and excitement swelling in his chest just enough to speak soft, and slow. As if clarifying to a child.

"All of these daft little feelings rolling around in the back of my skull, it's not because I like men. I don't, I'm not attracted to them in the slightest. But I adore you. More than I have ever been able to admit out of fear."

Yes fear.

"But it's not your gender. It's you. It's because you are Christophe. I like you because you **are** **Christophe.**"

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"I uhh"

"okay"

He wasn't sure how to respond to what he was just told, or the giddyness in his friends voice.

"But your still weird, I mean who comes right out and says something like that" He was forced to make eye contact again, but he was nervous. I mean how many people kiss there best friend, only to be followed by a confession. Now he feared only one thing, and it was on the tip of his tongue.

"So what to do now?"

He lent forward again wanted the connection that they had had only mere minutes ago. He found those soft lips again and realized he would never, ever get enough.

That was bad

Or was it extremely amazing?

He'd like to think the first but he knew better.

This was extremely amazing.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

"It's not weird, it makes perfect sense. And I'm simply stating because you asked!" He shot back, almost sounding annoyed. Almost.

He had expected worse of himself.

To push Christophe away again, deny that spark. Deny how he felt. Oh that realization dawned just in time.

"I know you better than anyone else, I know everything no one else ever will. How you work, everything. We used to spend every waking moment of our lives together."

He'd calmed down a considerable amount, his tone taking on a more sincere inflection.

"How could I not feel this way for you?"

After everything they'd been through.

Though the question still begged.

What to do now. Perhaps getting out of Chernobyl. That might be a good start. The first two were dead but no doubt more would be sent in their place if they failed to check in.

His thoughts were cut short by that tingling sensation against his mouth again, bright blue eyes slipping shut and hands dropping to grip almost childishly at the others shoulders.

What a pleasant feeling.

* * *

**Christophe POV **

When he broke the kiss, he gave him a sharp nod, but the smile still kept its place upon his face, threatening to stay there forever. Which he wouldne't mind. He hadn't smiled in ages. Nothing had made him happy, so there was nothing worth smiling for. Even when he got payed there was no joy, just regret that all of it would be gone soon, and that he was extremely disappointing that this was the only life that he had made for himself.

Now it was different, he had him back now.

"Lets get out of here" he tried to walk and succeeded in a limp sort of rag doll movement that suited him just fine. He would ask for help, and he was sure that he looked absolutely ridiculous(and he felt horrible) but that was just plainly not in his a mixture of groans made it through his throat as they exited the building racing away from any possibility of a second ambush( because really, how in the world would Christophe fight someone in his condition, even he knew that).

They ran out of the city.

Hand in hand.

Looking sort of gay, but nobody saw them.

All they needed to do now was get Christophe back on his feet so that they could figure out what had happened, and

why people were after **them**.


	5. Chapter 5

**Gregory POV**

Chernobyl had been easier than expected. Especially with an injured Mole at his side.

It was some sort of twisted form of romantic, running from what should have been their demise hand in hand.

Though now, in the more thriving parts of Russia, more specifically a safe house near the border of Belarus. Something elected a while ago seeing as missions seem to frequent the Ukrain lately. Gregory thought it smart to have a place he or his men could fall back on when needing to recover or rest.

And indeed it was.

Gregory's first order of business was nearly fighting Christophe into submission, force feeding him pain medication and disinfecting any cuts or gashes the boy might have received.

Quite a few but not as many as bruises.

Second order; get him clothed.

Christophe's ripped wardrobe would not due in the harsh Russian winter and by the time they'd both arrived back, despite his denying it the poor thing was frozen down to the bone and trembling as if he were having a small seizure.

He would leave the other to choose his own wardrobe.

He was left between tactile clothing, nearly military based which Gregory was sure he would go for, or the British mans own clothing style.

At least his own consisted of heavy winter coats.

All designer of course but that was beside the point.

Gregory left Christophe in the small bedroom in order to go about his third order of business; Research.

Currently the small living area was littered with paper work. Address books, former contacts, profiles. Every Mercenary or master Gregory had ever come into contact with, both allied and enemies with himself or his core scattered about the table and any other flat surface willing to hold his documents as he scan through them. Attempting to match the faces of their most recent attackers to a name.

They were Russian from the sounds of their accents (quite obviously) so at least that narrowed down a region.

There was a half empty pot of coffee on the small stove hidden in the kitchenette, he himself had already down two cups and three of breakfast tea hoping the caffeine would keep him up. Unlike Christophe he was not paranoid enough even by his job to have become an insomniac.

Which may have come in handy.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He stood in the bedroom, he couldn't believe that they had made it out of that dreadful situation alive. Gregory had brought them to this place, what a convenience. Christophe found himself annoyed at how prepared he was, for everything. When his usually completed a mission, half dead, he had no back up plan and found him self sleeping on rail road tracks most of the time. Anyways that's beside the point, they were here because they needed a place to rest, re stock, and to most importantly do some research to see what were up against, who were up against.

He was still shaking.

He wanted to blame the cold, but he knew better, he knew it was more than that.

He knew it was Gregory, Gregory and all that had happened not so long ago.

He thought of those perfect lips, and how he longed to taste them again. Not just that though. His mind became littered with a thousand dirty thoughts, enough to make him half hard. He cursed himself, this was not the time nor place.

He stripped his shirt and began to search for something more suiting for the weather.

Wishing in the back of his mind that Gregory would happen to come back in, but that was completely ridiculous, after all they were not at risk of death (though that was something he never feared when with the other).

What a silly thought.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Of course he was prepared.

He was Gregory bleeding Sharpe for Christs sake.

The risk of death was simply an occupational hazard when it came to the both of them. A mundane part of their job just as a construction worker risked injury. Though on a much more exciting scale. If this life choice weren't so invigorating Gregory would have absolutely no interest, luckily his work, though tiring, troublesome and tedious kept the boy interested and on the edge of his seat.

A feeling he loved.

Though it paled in comparison to just how on edge he'd been only hours before, with Christophe's mouth inches from his own...

He'd never gotten such a rush from another individual. Not romantically. Not on this level.

The thought was quickly shaken from his head, more important things to think about than snogging your best friend right now Gregory.

He ended up pacing around the small safe house, book in hand, racking the lists over and over again. At the very least he'd narrowed everything down to just 10 names. It was merely a guessing game at this point.

Over the course of minutes he was waiting for the other to come back so they could discuss just how to go about this, the boy began humming to himself, and then singing.

A habit he'd had since very young.

And one he was quite talented with.

There was a reason his minor was Musical Theater.

After growing impatient, with book in hand he trudged to the outside of the room, leaning against the frame of the closed door. There was an urge in the pit of his stomach to simply walk in, though that might agitated the other. Christophe was already just as on edge as he.

"Are you about done in there or must I come drag you out myself?"

* * *

**Christophe POV**

Christophe was deep in thought,

nostalgia swelled inside of him

So unaware of his surrounding that he barely heard the annoyed fussing outside of the door.

He couldn't even remember what he and said, and was afraid that his negligence for paing attention and spacing out would get a very angry Gregory to start ranting.

Not that he wasn't extremely attractive when he did this, because he was.

"Ehh quoi?"

He regretted that question as soon as it had left his mouth.

Finally he understood what he had said(though it had taken him an unreasonable amount of time to do so)

"Never..." He paused.

"Tant pis"

He was taking to long, seated on the small bed, shirtless he began to undo the button on his pants.

Nervous.

I mean wouldn't you be nervous if someone was on the other side of the door or the room that you were practically nude in?

Someone that made you stop being such an ass,

who brought you back down to earth.

Made you feel wanted.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Always endearing when he slipped back into his native tongue.

The few words of French did not fly right over his head, in fact they made him smile a bit, teasingly though no one was around currently to witness it.

After eliminating another few names he marked his place, closing and tucking the book under his left arm. His intentions were not to make the other nervous, in fact he'd not thought it at all possible for anyone, not even himself to un nerve Christophe 'La Mole' De'Lorne.

Though being Gregory William Sharpe, he would never let the other alone should he find out. Gregory enjoyed being one step above everyone, looking over their heads and being in control.

For a brief moment, just one half of a second in the back of his mind some dark, perverted thought mused just how much he would like the control ripped away from him. To be slammed hard against a wall and rendered helpless by the man on the other side of the door.

It set his face up in flames, and once again he tried to shove it aside. Pretend that thought had never been thought at all.

"Don't you never mind me. If you've just crawled in bed and are simply laying there I'm going to give you an ear full. We're practically working a case at this point! Even I don't take so long to get dressed."

Jar the handle.

A childish voice mused.

Startle him.

Just a little.

Oh come off it.

* * *

**Christophe POV **

So like a douche

He lied down.

And what followed after was even worse.

"Bite me" he snapped.

Egging him on was a perfect pastime, maybe it would bring things back down to a normal level. Maybe they would forget everything that had happened and just have a basic level companionship, on an a sexual level... but how wrong he was

He wouldn't let this rile him up, he was to smart for that.

Just not smart enough to see his error.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

He was expecting a retort but not one of the such. Usually his chastising was met with angry and colorful French. Not something so simple. And simply infuriating. It was childish, just as he remembered the boy being but there was also something...

Not so innocent about it.

The handle ceased it's rattling, only if to give Gregory a chance to place the book carefully, calmly on the hallway table. Contemplating this, carefully.

As he could approach it with more verbal onslaught.

Or.

After moments of silence, the door swung open, and there stood a very annoyed looking Mr. Sharpe, staring brows raised and rather amused at the half nude boy stretched out on the bed.

Oh ignore that.

Ignore that for now.

"What was that."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He couldn't hide the shit eating grin that had formed on his face when the other man had entered.

It was just the reaction that he wanted, the one he was hoping for.

"Well I said 'bite me', it was me throwing you off balance" he smirked. "See you expect me to yell some obscenity's in french every time you do something annoying to me, but no, I kept composition" he said sounding and looking like a child who thought he deserved an award for not being an ass, once.

However he did not realize how his nakedness effected the blond.

Because it did.

And when he realized that it was too late.

"This is bad, I'm sorry" he said stupidly beginning to stand up, still regarding his attire.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

His mouth could not be pressed into more of a thin line, facial expression unreadable but some how extremely flustered as he eyed the boy before him, trying to disregard his lack of clothing. At any other point in his life this would not be a problem, he would simply chastise Christophe for being nude in his presence but as of late, after that...back in Pripyat.

Good lord.

"All you've proved is just how little of an adult you actually are." He said, voice cracking a bit.

He'd already made up his mind, if Christophe was going to play a change of game so would he.

As the boy slowly came to a stand the side of his mouth twitched, his posture regaining a perfect vertical suit.

"But if you do insist darling." He shot, aiming to make the situation even odder, though that was not actually his intent he crossed the short distance between them, tangling a hand in Christophe's brown hair and yanking his head back.

Biting his neck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Christophe POV**

He was quite confused at what he meant, his words always seemed to have double meanings.  
He was however, aware of the situation when he felt his teeth on his neck.  
He didn't know what to do.  
Christophe stifled a moan in his throat. Pulling back, and his brow furrowed questioningly.  
"Vat?" he let out barely audible.  
He studied his friends(is that what he would call him now?) face waiting for him to explain himself  
"I didn't mean it like that!" he tried to cover the blush creeping across his cheeks with his hands

"It's not usually thought of as a literal term"

He soon found himself grabbing the other by his shirt and pushing him onto the bed, against the head board, and climbed on top of him pushing him into the wood and straddling him.

"But..this could work"

* * *

**Gregory POV**

He had certainly elicited quite a flustered reaction. Something only Gregory had ever been able to do, though it was never so intimate. "Oh calm down I was simply countering your own offense. Is that not the game you were playing at? Throwing something unexpected my way to knock me off balance?"

"I'm sorry to say it didn't quit work."

Besides from just how embarrassed the boy appeared Gregory would say he quite enjoyed the sudden scraping of his teeth against Christophes scarred flesh.

Apparently the game had not yet ended. A soft, surprised gasp worked its way passed his lips as his body was forced onto the bed and up against the head board, feeling the jagged design of the wood press into his shoulder blades.

It was his turn to give the other a rather confused stare, though the confusion melted away for a rather cocky stare. "Could it now?" He mouth quietly, bringing his hands to rest against the boys bare chest. Letting his fingers trace the upraised scars decorating his torso.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

His slightly defined musculature(he was considered to be quite scrawny by most, we that was only until he was nude, which only about two people have ever his mother)tightened at the touch of his long pale fingers, tracing things he dare not share with his friend, for fear of worrying him( a ridiculous thought, he knew) .  
He came closer, now able to feel the others short and unsure breaths. they brushed noses as he brought his face closer until their lips where about a decimeter apart.  
"Oui"  
He pressed their lips together, slow and unsure.  
Every thing that seemed to be the opposite of the man.  
He stared at Gregory questioningly with bright green eyes wondering if he had done it right, he was very un experianced.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

It was to be expected that despite his slightly short stature Christophe had some muscle tone on him, especially in his field of work, and all the digging he had done since a child.  
He felt the others body tense, laying his hands out flat, palms pressed against the boys pectorals, the fingers of his right hand very delicately running themselves over a particularly gnarled scar just over his companions heart.

They'd never spoken of it in depth. But Gregory knew exactly what it was from, and the woman who gave it to him.

It had always been his favorite.

As the French man inched closer he parted his lips, just slightly so Christophe's could rest between them. Their mouths fitting together perfectly.

It was so out of character, so gentle. So...human.

He kept his own eyes open, returning the forest green gaze with his own ocean blue eyes, moving his left hand up to gently cup the scruffed face of his partner, running a thumb over his cheek as if to assure him that everything was alright.

Everything was perfect.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

And when Gregory touched his face,  
he melted.  
He knew it was okay so naturally he continued.  
He started at his mouth but began to work his way down his neck nipping and sucking down to his collar bone.  
"Look who's being submissive"  
he smiled, and started to look young again, the air seemed to change.  
He let himself relax, mind clear, and instincts take over. But sill of course he was slow and cautious (being a virgin, but that was one thing that would embarrass him beyond belief if Gregory ever found out, because undoubtedly he was not...)

* * *

**Gregory POV**

The sensation Christophe's cracked lips against his still sore throat created were enough to warrant a soft sigh, one that held a bit of sound and nearly bordered that of a tiny groan.

It was pleasant.

Having the other atop of him, despite the near nudity.

Feeling this unbearably close to someone again.

Absolutely wonderful.

He'd not a clue the other was still a virgin, sexual conversation had never really been either of the boys topics when paling around with one another.

But contrary to what the other expected, no. Yes, he had gotten quite far with some of his female callers but they had ended up boring him before anything farther south could get too acquainted.

He let the hand slip from the front of Christophe's face to grip the boys thick messy hair, tangling his fingers as much he could.

"Well you are the one who pushed me back onto the bed."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"W..whateverr"  
Damn getting his hair pulled felt spectacular.

He lightly pressed his pointer finger to the buttons on Gregory's shirt. He wanted it off, but for once he would be polite for once, and ask.  
"C..can I?" he asked sheepishly.  
Tugged at it to make his question more clear.  
He wanted him. All of him. And maybe he had felt this way for along time. BUt now today was all that mattered.  
He wanted to see his porcelain skin, his body, all of it.  
He found himself eying the man hungrily.

He gave him a chaste kiss.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

A rather arrogant smirk found its way onto the boys lips, blue eyes half lidded and staring the other down.

"Never mind my being submissive." He spoke after the second kiss."

"You're being rather shy today, aren't you?"

Though his voice wasn't strictly teasing, it was soft and nurturing.

Gregory knew that to have the Mole open up to him in such a way was certainly a rare occurance. Christophe was afraid of his emotions, he had to be gentle with the other or he'd recluse back into anger for fear of appearing weak.

He didn't want that.

Carefully, he pushed forward so his back was just off the head board, keeping himself upright by lacing his arms around the others shoulders.

"Go on then."

Permission in the form of a whisper.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He scowled at the remark of him being shy, ha! he was not shy(denial isn't just a river in Egypt) but he continued on, button by button, removing his shirt.  
Taking time to kiss him every three buttons.

How ridiculously sentimental the French man as being.  
When he was finished he cast the shirt aside, pausing to look at his handy work. Every thing about him was better than he had imagined(not that he spent his days thinking about a shirtless Gregory, *insert nervous laughter*)  
his body was slim and beautiful  
seemingly perfect except for a few long scars on his chest.  
Christophe frowned.  
"What is this?" he said sadly, he knew his line of work, but it was hard to think that someone else, someone that he cared fow was in such danger.  
He licked up the raised mark (obviously more than a year old) to emphasize what he was speaking of.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

Shifting to help the other discard his shirt and flip it across the room he lay back against the head board, the cold wood against his now bare back causing him to arch his mid section only a bit, pricking his porcelain skin with goosebumps.

"Oh..." He groaned softly, body twitching if only a bit when the sensitive skin was laved with warm, smoke scented saliva.

Gregory's body was a pale canvas, smooth and silken save for four major scars that blemished his perfect skin (And a small beauty mark beneath his left eye but that was hardly a blemish.)

Two were facing Christophe.

The one on his chest smooth down it's length, stretching from the dip in his collar bone to the end of his ribs where it became suddenly jagged.

The failed attempts of a Vivisection. The anesthetic, which was no more than a hard blow to the head, had warn off and allowed Gregory to fight his way free.

"A particularly nasty memory." He responded. He couldn't of been more than 16 at the time.

The second were the gnarled remains of a bullet hole that lay just inside his hip where it began to dip down into his groin.

He was lucky that one hadn't shattered his pelvis.

* * *

**Christophe POV**

"Hmm" his eyes grew dark and were clouded with worry. "Where was he?" he scolded himself, "Where was Christophe Delorne when these horrible things happened?, probably off in a corner dwindling away in his own self pity, while totally oblivious of the fact that he should be saving his best friend!" he kept these biting thoughts to himself.  
"I, I'm so sorry" Is all he could squeak out.  
He started on the others pants undoing them, trying to slide them off (clumsily) and staring and the rather large bulge in his friends underwear. "I, uh" , his face turned red, he felt himself hard as a rock in his pants.

"I just want to make you feel better" he said sweetly, and with honest intention despite their current situation. "Th..thats all I 'ave ever wanted to do, keep you company, and be there for you like you were for me..back when we were kids" he said slowley, the last few words dripping from his mouth.  
Even with his lust coated expression, and hungry eyes, he was being honest and pure.

* * *

**Gregory POV**

"Christophe, it's not your fault. There's no reason to apologize."

At the time it had happened Gregory was still hot headed and independent. He had wanted to prove himself useful on a mission by himself rather than depending on his mercenaries for protection.

He was still just a kid, and his confidence was his downfall.

His own face lit up, well, more than it already had been. Oh he wasn't aware of just how flustered Christophe had him until the boy began working at his pants.

And the words he spoke...

They almost hurt.

They stung.

It was hard forcing eye contact, something he'd never found difficult before...

As was forming conversation with the other basically on top of him and straddling his legs, he felt ridiculously exposed.

Uncharacteristically shy.

A soft hand reached up to rest gently against the French mans cheek, Gregory beneath him giving Christophe a small, solemn smile. Though his expression was sad, his eyes were not. They were thankful, hopeful.

Because they had another chance.

"So let us start again. And I will never leave your side."

* * *

**Christophe POV**

He rested their foreheads together

"Perfect"

"That's all I ever wanted" was what he had meant to say, but ya know,

Que sera sera.

* * *

**I want to send special thanks to R.H and Acorn milk!**


End file.
